The relentless sun bore down on the vast stretch of sand, transforming the desert into a glistening inferno. The heavy air was enveloped in the strong scent of grit and sweat. Andre narrowed his eyes in the heat, gazing at the never-ending sand dunes that looked like a shimmering sea of gold.
Traveling to the Bloodsand Kingdom was turning out to be a harsh trial of stamina. In contrast to the Detherborn flying effortlessly above them, glowing with an otherworldly heat distortion, the rest of the army struggled in the unforgiving sun. Andre's armor was drenched in sweat, which formed a layer of salt on his skin.
His throat felt as rough as sandpaper, extremely thirsty and lacking moisture.
He quickly looked at Res next to him, her face red and hair stuck to her forehead from sweat. Her typically bright green eyes appeared dimmed by the intense desert sunlight. His lips contorted in a sympathetic grimace. In spite of the difficulties, she remained upright on her horse, her jaw displaying unwavering determination. She also looked sad. She missed Marcus. He had gone to liberate the Frostwood Realm.
Facing them, Drake, in his red armor shining in the sunlight, used the back of his hand to remove a drop of sweat from his forehead. Even in the hot weather, his smile never wavered. "Rough afternoon, eh, Shadow?" he rasped, his voice dry.
Andre managed a weak smile. "Rough doesn't even begin to describe it, Drake."
Their conversation, even if awkward, provided a bit of solace in the stifling heat. The friendship they had built through numerous fights was a source of support in this isolated terrain.
At sunset, as the sky turned orange and red, marking the end of a tough day, Rhaegar Detherborn descended in front of them, his fiery wings illuminating the sand.
"We will camp here for the night," he said loudly, his voice resonating powerfully in the quiet surroundings.
"Rest, for tomorrow we continue our trek towards the Bloodsand capital. We must reach the Vor'talon of Drought before it consumes the kingdom."
A wave of relief swept through the soldiers. Tired yet resolute, the army got off their horses and began the tedious process of making their camp. Fires blazed, defiantly flickering against the darkness creeping closer. Rations, though limited, were gladly handed out.
Andre took a seat beside Res and Drake, passing around a waterskin they all shared. The warm and valuable water offered a brief escape from the intense heat. They consumed their portions in a pleasant quietness, their bodies desperate for relaxation.
Looking up at the sky filled with stars, a new view after weeks of dust and smoke. It was beautiful.
.....
The harsh sun beat down on the harsh desert terrain. The sand dunes extended in front of them like an infinite sea of liquid gold, glistening in the intense heat distortion. Andre looked hard through the bright sunlight, trying to spot where they needed to go.
"Where is the gang, Drake?" he rasped, his voice hoarse from thirst. "Shouldn't they be helping out in the war effort?"
Drake, his armor reflecting the sun's glare like a distorted mirror, shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow with a grimy sleeve. "Apparently," he muttered, "Rhaegar sent them north after killing the Vor'talon of Conflagration, along with some of his lot. The Vor'talon of Decay is up in the Frostwood Realm too. Gotta take out all the trash, right?"
Andre gave a brief nod as a dull pain started to spread in his chest. A different Vor'talon? I wonder, what was the quantity of these annoying items? They continued walking silently, with only the noise of sand under their boots and the occasional tired horse snorting. Throughout the day, Andre started to observe something peculiar. The scenery stretched endlessly with sand dunes as far as visible, devoid of any signs of life. There are no villages, no farms, and no nomadic herders. The desert seemed to have engulfed everything completely.
"Hey, Drake," he called out, curiosity gnawing at him. "Where are all the people? I thought the Bloodsand Kingdom was supposed to be this thriving trade hub."
Drake chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "It is, or at least it was. But see, the Bloodsand King likes things… centralized. 90% of the population lives crammed into the capital city. Makes it easier to tax them, I guess."
Andre made a displeased expression on his face. That... didn't seem positive. It depicted a bleak portrayal of a realm governed by selfishness and oppressive authority. The frown on his face grew more intense when a harsh cry broke the tense quietness. He looked over to see a soldier of Drake lying in the sand, his face twisted in pain. Lack of sufficient body fluids and dehydration. The Grimoire had given him sight on how someone died.
Without warning, a Detherborn descended from the sky, his appearance glowing with an otherworldly heat shimmer, catching everyone off guard. He stood over the soldier, his hand extended in a prayerful manner. Next, a sudden surge of scorching fire burst out from his hand, consuming the soldier immediately. The cry faded into a stifled wheeze, leaving behind just a heap of burning embers.
A cold dread coiled in Andre's stomach. He stared at the Detherborn, who landed gracefully nearby, his face unreadable.
"That… that was harsh," Andre managed, his voice barely a whisper.
Rhaegar, his voice booming through the still air, spoke before the Detherborn could answer. "It is Detherborn tradition," he said, his words leaving no room for argument. "We cremate our dead. It ensures their souls are unburdened by the harsh realities of the mortal world."
He looked out at the endless desert, a vast and unforgiving wilderness.
After 2 hours of walking, the vast emptiness of the desert eventually opened up to reveal a scene that left Andre feeling both amazed and nervous. In front of him lay the Dune Citadel, the primary city of the Bloodsand Kingdom. The city wasn't as lavish as he had imagined, with no grand palaces or busy markets. Instead, it stood as a stronghold constructed from the actual skeleton of the desert, its structures high walls of sandstone that seamlessly merged with the nearby sandy hills.
Rhaegar landed next to Andre, with his wings ablaze in the light of the setting sun. With his voice reverberating through the expansive void "The Dune Citadel," he boomed, his voice echoing across the vast emptiness. "The heart of the Bloodsand Kingdom, and unfortunately, the breeding ground for the Vor'talon of Drought."
Andre couldn't resist the urge to whistle quietly. The city, despite its grandeur, appeared exhausted. The structures, previously red and gold with lively colors, were now a dull, dusty exterior. The typically busy streets were unusually deserted, showing the kingdom's struggle with the drought.
"So, here's the plan," Drake interjected, his voice tight with strategy. "We know these desert dwellers hoard their water. They'll be weak, dehydrated. Plus, no undead here. Apparently, those things need some form of fluid to… well, reanimate."
A grim smile played on Andre's lips. A city weakened by thirst, no undead to worry about – it was a gamble, but it might just be their best shot.
"We walk in," Drake continued, his eyes glinting with a dangerous glint. "No flashy entrances, no alarms. We blend in with the crowd, find the damned Vor'talon's lair, and then…" he trailed off, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword.
"Then we unleash hell," Andre finished for him, his own voice laced with a steely determination.
Rhaegar nodded curtly. "The Detherborn will provide a distraction once we're inside. You focus on finding and eliminating the Vor'talon. Remember," he added, his voice dropping to a low growl, "we only get one shot at this. Failure is not an option."